Electronic Confession
by EpicInTheLibrary
Summary: Stan has a girlfriend. Kyle wishes he didn't. Style
1. Breaking Down

_-REALLY old story, just to let you know. My first SP fic, actually. But I wrote it before I actually SAW South Park, so that's where Britt and Lucky Seven came from. Besides, who would want to take their date to City Wok? Yeah. I didn't think so._

But yeah, so try to enjoy my super repetitive, contradictory, unrealistic crap. For some reason this fic depresses me so much. Dunno why, I write tons of stories like this. But whatever.

And seriously, I hate when people put put OCs in fanfiction, so I kind of a lot super hate this story. So.-

-

Flaming red hair flowing out from underneath a tall green hat. Under that are his eyes, strikingly green, and under those is a small frown. This frown tugs at the corners of his mouth, refusing to let him smile. This alone gives him the appearance of depression. It keeps people away, keeps all from coming near.

Except for the boy next to him.

A blue hat covers unkempt dark hair that falls in his eyes. He, at least, looks in a good mood. Unlike the redhead next to him.

"Cheer up, Kyle," he banters, shoving the boy next to him playfully. This fails to lighten his mood. It makes his frown more visible. He opens his mouth.

"Just because you're excited, I don't have to be," he mumbles, barely audible. It's almost painful for him to talk, and he doesn't plan on saying much more. The dark-haired boy's grin fades and is replaced by a look of concern.

"What's wrong, Kyle? I thought you _were_ excited."

The redhead fixes his gaze elsewhere. "Well I'm not."

"Oh." With that, the boy falls silent, his mood dropping. Kyle feels a pang of guilt and turns back to him.

"Look, I'm sorry, Stan. I just-"

"Don't want to meet my girlfriend?" Stan finishes for him, slight anger creeping into his voice. Kyle winces at the last word and quickly shakes his head.

"No, no! Of course I want to meet your girlfriend," he lies.

"Well you sure don't seem like it," Stan grumbles. Kyle, desperate to keep Stan from getting angry, forces a bright, happy smile.

"Well I do." This seems to get Stan. He relaxes, returning the smile.

"Thanks."

Kyle nods, allowing his smile to fade slightly, trying to seem like he's now in a better mood.

Inside him, the depression festers.

Stan met his girlfriend on the internet. They've been talking for half a year, and now she's coming down to stay for a month. Since they met, Stan has been- well, not exactly _ignoring_ Kyle, but he's seemed to have less time for his best friend. It's always, "Hang on, Britt's calling," or, "Sorry, Britt and I are IMing tonight." Nearly every night Kyle spends watching late night movies alone or going out alone. Each time has added just a little more to his resentment for "Britt." Now that she's coming down, he feels that Stan will have no time for him at all.

Cold, isn't it?" Stan remarks.

"Huh?" Kyle is jolted out of his thoughts.

"It's just... cold." Stan shivers and pulls his jacket tighter around himself.

"Oh... yeah." _Just like how I feel._

Kyle looks up at the gray sky that promises more snow. It's the last thing they need, he thinks. They've already got four inches of snow. Suddenly Stan stops. Kyle looks at him.

"There's the movie theater..." He points. That's where they're supposed to meet Britt. Kyle's heart sinks.

"Looks like we're early," he comments, trying to keep his voice steady and under control. Stan turns to him, grinning, and Kyle forces a fake smile, trying his best to look happy for his friend. They walk over to the large building. The plan is that once Britt arrives, they'll all see a movie together, then go out for dinner. Kyle has agreed to go, but only to make Stan happy. Besides, it's probably the last he'll see of him for a month.

Just as they reach the theater, a taxi pulls up next to them. A blond girl jumps out, waving excitedly.

"Stan!" she yells, running over.

"Britt!" Stan exclaims, hugging her tightly as she jumps into his arms. Kyle smiles at Stan, trying to look happy for him.

Inside, his heart is breaking.

-

"That was a good movie," Britt smiles, her gaze directed toward Stan. He beams back at her and agrees.

Kyle shuffles along beside Stan, head hanging, shoulders drooping. He is the epitome of depression. Stan and Britt don't seem to be noticing.

After Britt had been introduced to Kyle they had decided on what movie to see. Seeing them so happy together makes Kyle's stomach twist in pain and he's considered going home, but then he's thought of the whole month Britt is going to be staying, and, Britt or no Britt, this is the last time he'll be seeing Stan. So he's just decided to make the most of it and stick around.

The whole time Stan and Britt have been laughing together and making loving faces at each other, and it's been making Kyle feel worse. He can't tell them to stop, though because what would be the point in that? It would just bring down the mood and maybe even make Stan mad at him. He couldn't bear that.

So he just keeps quiet, keeps his private rain cloud to himself. That seems fine to Stan and Britt.

"So where do you want to go for dinner?" Stan asks Britt. She smiles and looks down.

"I don't know, what kind of places do you have down here?"

Stan begins naming off restaurants. Kyle stares at the ground in front of him and kicks angrily at the snow. Britt is really starting to tick him off. Sure, she's really nice, he can see why Stan likes her so much. But for some unknown reason he resents her. Probably because she takes up so much of Stan's time. And now that she's actually down here, Stan will have no free time whatsoever.

"I've always liked Chinese," Britts says, smiling shyly. Stan beams.

"I know this great place called Lucky Seven. You'll like it, trust me."

Britt giggles. "Okay."

Stan turns to Kyle. "Sound okay to you?"

"Hmm- what?" Kyle lifts his head and turns his eyes to focus on Stan's face. He stares blankly at him as he repeats the situation.

"Yeah. Okay. Sounds good." Stan gives him a strange look before turning back to Britt- of course.

"Alright, then. Lucky Seven it is." Britt giggles again and wraps her arms around Stan's right arm, leaning her head into his shoulder. Kyle lowers his head and resumes staring at the snow-covered sidewalk before him. He trudges dolefully beside his best friend, wishing he could be anywhere but here. Stan notices.

"Hey, man. Kyle, you okay?"

"Yeah, you don't look too good," Britt agrees. Kyle gives in.

"Yeah, I'm not feeling great. Must be what I ate for lunch."

"You want to go home?" Stan looks... well, not exactly _skeptical_, but pretty close. Kyle winces and nods.

"Yeah, I think that would be best."

"Well... You want us to walk you home?"

"...No." Kyle turns to leave, painfully aware of the fact that he's probably leaving Stan for a month.

"...Are you sure?" Kyle stops and turns his head back slightly.

"Yeah. I'll... see you later." Probably not.

"See ya."

"Bye, it was nice to meet you," Britt calls after him. "Hope you feel better!"

She really is a nice girl. Stan's lucky. Kyle's not.

It feels like he and Stan have gotten farther apart, somehow. Because of Britt. He resents her for that. Wishes she doesn't exist. So that he could spend every second of the day with Stan. So that they can be together. Like they used to.

Stan and Kyle can have sleep overs practically every night, like they used to. They can spend the whole next day sleeping, like they used to. They can go to the park together, or the forest, or even just Stan's house, like they used to.

Britt has gotten in the way of Stan and Kyle's friendship, and it's breaking Kyle down slowly, surely, utterly and completely.

He wants to cry.


	2. Understanding

_-HatehateHATE this. None of it makes sense and it's so unrealistic it makes me want to cry. I hope none of you do lol. Ghghghgh angst ahoy! Be warned. I don't want to accidently depress anyone, so.-_

Kyle turns the computer on, waiting for it to warm up. It's almost ten-thirty, he doesn't even know why he's getting on. No one else will be. He sighs.

The walk home alone was painful. Every step he was thinking about Stan and Britt, and about how happy they were together. They were probably glad that he left, so that they could spend the time alone. He can imagine Britt snuggling up to Stan, leaning in, wrapping her arms around him. And Stan, embracing her, smiling, that look in his eyes that breaks Kyle's heart.

They probably kissed.

Moisture springs up in Kyle's eyes and he lifts a hand to wipe it away. This is stupid. He's stupid. He should be happy for his best friend, not devastated. Stan's happy. That's all that matters.

Kyle opens AIM and signs in, expecting to get off right away. To his surprise, someone's actually on. It's Stan.

Before he can do anything, a message appears on the screen.

_Hey. Feeling better?_ Kyle can't resist a smile, though it's short and weak. It soon disappears, however, as he begins to type.

_Yeah. Where's Britt?_ He leans back and waits as Stan answers.

_Taking a shower._ So that's why he's on.

_Oh._ There's a pause. Kyle waits again for Stan to say something. Eventually he does.

_Look, I know your stomach wasn't bothering you earlier. What's up?_ Kyle winces and thinks, debating whether to tell him or not. No, he immediately thinks. Of course not. That would be stupid. He's being stupid. He types one word, knowing that the pause has been too long for it to be true.

_Nothing._ Stan types fast.

_Come on, Kyle. I know something's wrong. What is it?_ Kyle doesn't answer. Stan types more.

_Is it Britt?_

_No._ A pause.

_Is it me?_

Kyle is at a loss. Half of him wants to tell Stan. Confess everything he's been thinking, everything he's ever thought. How he wishes there was no Britt, that she had never come into Stan's life. That he hates her for taking Stan away from him.

The other half knows he has to keep this all secret, bottled up inside his head. This side knows he's being stupid, that he has to get over this. He can't tell Stan, can't let him know anything. It would damage their friendship even more.

He types a word.

_No._

_Kyle. It has to be something. Tell me._ Kyle doesn't answer. He can't think of anything. Stan types more.

_Tell me or I'm coming over._

Kyle isn't aware of the tears until one is sliding down his cheek. Everything is so hard. He hates all of these complications; his feelings, Britt, Stan- everything. More tears follow the first, and Kyle's chest is hurting on the inside. He can't have Stan come over to see him like this. He can't lie, either. So he types the one thing that will keep Stan away, and is completely true.

_I love you._

He signs off and turns off the computer, tears spilling down his cheeks.

He's just said goodbye to Stan forever.

-

It's snowing.

White flakes fall from the gray sky to cover everything beneath them. It makes the world a blank, emotionless white.

Kyle has been in his room for three days. Alone.

He's lost track of the amount of time he's spent crying. His eyes are still red and puffy, and they seem like they'll never be back to normal.

He figures he needs to get out. He doubts it, but maybe it will put his mind to rest.

Sighing sadly, he gets his shoes and puts them on, wondering whether he really should be doing this. Sure, it would be good for him- staying holed up in his room can't be healthy. He trudges down the stairs, engulfed in his despair. Of course, he and Stan haven't talked since three nights ago- Kyle doesn't see any point in life anymore. So why not just go outside for a while?

He reaches the front door and slowly pulls it open, cold immediately hitting his face. He lets out a breath, closing the door behind him. He walks out onto the snow-covered lawn.

And he stops, breath catching in his throat.

Stan is standing in the snow before him.

There are about a million thoughts racing trough Kyle's mind. They're overwhelming him, engulfing him in a chaotic mess that leaves him small, pathetic, and useless. He stands completely still, unable to do anything else. His eyes meet Stan's and he immediately lowers his gaze, staring at the snow-covered ground at his feet.

Stan remains silent. Kyle is rooted to the spot, unable to lift his gaze any higher than his feet. It seems like forever they stand there in silence, the only thing moving the snow falling around them. Finally Kyle manages one word: "Stan."

He says it as a statement; a single, full, complete statement. He says it weakly, hopelessly, helplessly. He still can't move, still can't hold Stan's gaze. It's painful, the silence. Stan could be thinking that he hates Kyle. He could be coming up with the words to tell Kyle that they can't be friends anymore. He could be here to say goodbye.

The silence stretches on beyond forever, or so it seems to Kyle. It's been a lifetime since he came out of his house, a lifetime since he saw Stan. Three lifetimes since he talked to Stan on AIM. This is the last time he'll ever see Stan.

The boy with the dark hair speaks.

"Is it true?" His voice is soft, hesitant, as if he doesn't really want to know. Kyle's shaking. Tears begin to slide down his cheeks and he struggles to keep his voice steady as he answers.

"Yes." All of Kyle's despair is let out through that one word. It is barely uttered, spoken under his breath. Even though Stan's too far away to hear, he understands. Silence follows the word. More painfully long silence. Kyle is shaking with silent sobs. He hates crying, especially in front of Stan.

When Stan continues to remain silent, Kyle finds his ability to move and abruptly turns and runs back to his house. As he is opening the front door, he hears Stan call after him.

"Kyle, wait!"

He's already through the door, though, and he slams it shut after him. He runs to the stairs and is already on the third step when his front door is thrown open.

"Kyle- wait!"

Kyle ignores him, continuing to run up the stairs, tears flowing freely now. Stan follows desperately after him, calling for him to stop.

Kyle reaches his room and tries to close the door, but Stan quickly shoves his foot in the way, stopping him. He throws it back open and stumbles into the room after Kyle.

Kyle backs away into the corner of his room, away from Stan. He doesn't look at him, is careful to keep his eyes on the hardwood floor between them.

"Kyle." Stan stops, standing by the doorway. Kyle, still shaking, doesn't answer.

"Kyle," Stan repeats, taking a step forward. "Kyle, I'm not mad." Kyle's eyes finally jump up to Stan's face, and a look of surprise passes over his features.

"You-you're not?"

"No- of course not!" Stan crosses the room to approach Kyle. "Why would I be mad? Just because you're gay?"

Kyle looks down again, more tears spilling down his cheeks. The words he speaks next are at a mumble, barely audible.

"Because I love you."

Stan is silent, and Kyle immediately regrets saying that. How could he say something like that? Stan loves Britt. Kyle is just a complication. He's getting in the way. He's making things hard. He should have just kept everything to himself. Then Stan would be happy, and that's really all that matters. Right now, he's not making Stan happy. He's making problems for him.

Finally, Stan speaks. Quietly.

"You... you think I should hate you... just because of that? Because... you love me?"

Kyle chokes on a sob and closes his eyes. "I... I just get in the way. You and Britt are in love. It's as simple as that. I'm just... a complication." He still refuses to look at Stan.

"No, Kyle. You're my best friend. Don't say that about yourself."

"But it's true." His voice is soft, painful.

"Kyle. Stop it. Please. You do not get in the way, You're fine. Now stop it."

"Why should I? You _know_ it's true. Everything would be fine right now if I wasn't... like this. You would be with Britt, and I would just be happy for you, and I wouldn't get in the way because I'm gay!" Kyle's getting angry. Why does Stan keep denying the truth? It obviously _is_ the truth, so why does he keep saying there's no problem? That's like trying to ignore the ocean when you're stranded in the middle of it. "So stop telling me I'm not a problem, because I am! Stop being so- so-"

"Kyle." Stan sighs sadly, putting his hands on Kyle's shoulders and looking him in the eye. "Kyle. Calm down. You need to stop beating yourself up over this. And don't think of it in such extreme terms. Britt and I aren't 'in love,' we're _dating_. She's my girlfriend. You're just making everything sound worse. Calm down."

Kyle takes deep breaths and tries to obey, but only because of how sincere Stan sounds. It's true; maybe he is making more out of this than he should. He should just try and calm down, relax...

The tears have stopped by now. Kyle sniffs and slowly sinks to the floor. Stan takes his hands off of Kyle's shoulders and moves down, sitting cross-legged in front of Kyle. Kyle shudders and looks at his hands. It's silent again, though this time it's not painful. Now he knows that Stan doesn't hate him. That's enough to keep him happy for a lifetime. In fact, joy is spreading through his body, overwhelming joy. He's surprised that Stan isn't mad, but it's a good thing. He doesn't feel so hopeless anymore.

"Stan..."

"Hmm?"

"...Why don't you hate me?" Kyle's eyes flicker up from his hands to find Stan's eyes. He looks surprised by the question.

"Well, I've been your best friend for a long time. Something like this isn't going to change that."

"But... this is big. You're straight, and your best friend is gay."

"Trust me, Kyle, it's not that big a deal."

"Okay," Kyle answers quietly, thinking.

What is going on? Of course this is a big deal- anyone would think it is. So why doesn't Stan?

"Stan."

"What?"

"Why isn't it that big a deal?"

"Well- because you're my best friend, and-"

'I know, but _Stan_. I _love_ you. L-"

"Okay, I get it!" he suddenly yells, startling Kyle. "Yes, I _know_ you love me! I _get_ it. I understand! You love me! I don't care! I really don't care! I-" he cuts off, realizing too late what he's just said.

"Kyle-"

Kyle's already standing, passing him, tears spilling over once again. He scrambles up, trying to stop him as he passes, but Kyle keeps going.

"Kyle, wait! I didn't mean-"

Kyle's at the doorway. Stan desperately reaches out and catches Kyle by the arm, pulling him back into the room.

And then, before Kyle can do anything, Stan's lips are against his.

He immediately brings his hands up and jumps slightly in surprise. Stan holds Kyle's face in his hands, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. He slides his fingers into his hair, taking his hat off at the same time. Kyle holds onto Stan's waist, lifting his shirt slightly with one hand.

Suddenly he stops, breaking away and taking his hands back.

"Stan," he says, looking up into the other boy's eyes. "You- Britt."

Stan's mouth quirks upward and he leans in close. "I don't love her, Kyle. We're only dating."

"But- S-Stan," Kyle stammers as Stan's hands begin to move. "Y-you can't just- oh..."

Stan has slipped his hand up underneath Kyle's shirt and is sliding his fingers across skin. Kyle lets out a small noise and closes his eyes, stumbling backwards slightly. This is what he's wanted for so long, right? So he should be enjoying this. Well, he is, but not as thoroughly as he should be, because behind the pleasure there is guilt, and he can't get past that guilt. Stan shouldn't be doing this; he's going out with Britt. Besides, since when does he like Kyle?

"S-Stan. Stop it."

"Why? You love me, don't you?"

Kyle takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes shut tightly. "Well- yes, but- but not like- Stan, will you st-stop it?" He does, and Kyle can think more clearly.

Yes, Stan, I do love you. But not like this. Right now you're not acting like the person I'm in love with. You're with Britt, Stan. You can't just start- _doing_ stuff like this just because- because you found out I'm gay." And as he's saying it, he realizes it must be true. Stan didn't show an attraction until he was sure about Kyle's feelings. Kyle wants to dispel the thought- there must be some reasonable explanation. This isn't like Stan. It just isn't.

Stan is shaking his head, his face serious. "No, Kyle; I'm not- that's- it's not because of that, I swear. I just- I... I don't really know how to explain it."

Kyle can see this is difficult for him- either that, or he's trying to come up with something fast. It might be because he doesn't want to believe that, but Kyle wants to give him a chance. He tells himself it's because he needs to make sure Stan isn't lying, but he knows that's not all of it.

"...Can you try to explain...?" he asks in a quiet voice, averting his eyes so he's not looking at Stan's face anymore. Stan takes a deep breath and releases it slowly.

"Okay," he says, breathing out. Kyle walks over to him. Stan doesn't look at him, instead staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes.

"Okay," he repeats, taking a breath, as if he's readying himself. "Okay." He turns his head and fixes Kyle with a serious look. Serious and confused. And determined. He opens his mouth and begins to speak.

"Kyle... I like Britt, I really do... But after what you told me on AIM a few nights ago, I ... It made me think. About... well, about- you."

Well duh. Of course it made him think about Kyle. But by the way Stan's cheeks are flushing pink, Kyle can tell he was thinking about him a little differently than usual.

"I... thought about the way you must have been feeling when we were with Britt. I realized that's why you went home. You..." He turns to look at Kyle. "You really don't like Britt, do you?"

Kyle stares back at Stan, thinking. Finally, he says, "It's unreasonable, I know, but I just... feel like she's taking up so much of your time, and..." He trails off, reluctant to continue.

"You feel like she's taking me away from you," Stan finishes for him quietly. Kyle nods and looks away.

"...It's okay. I can understand that."

"But I still think she's nice," Kyle says, trying to sound less like he hates her. Stan nods. It's silent again. Kyle can tell Stan's thinking. Eventually he opens his mouth.

"Thinking about you- all of this- it made me realize." He falls silent. Kyle looks at him. Stan doesn't meet his eyes. Neither of them speak. Kyle just waits patiently, ready to hear Stan when he's ready to speak. He keeps his eyes carefully trained on the hardwood floor as he continues quietly.

"I do like Britt..... but only as a friend. I....... I love- you." He says it as barely a whisper.

Kyle doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know what to do. He remains silent, keeps his eyes firmly on the floor. Stan sucks his breath in sharply, gripping the bed sheets tightly in his fists.

"I'm sorry, I must sound unbelievable- you don't have to believe me. I- I'll go, if-"

"Stan," Kyle says forcefully, and the boy next to him falls silent. This silence stretches on between the two, influencing their thoughts. Stan waits anxiously for Kyle to answer, distressed. Kyle is thinking. He can't be sure what Stan is saying is completely true. As much as he wants to believe it right now, he has to be absolutely sure.

"Stan." He says the boy's name quietly now, without as much conviction. Stan doesn't look up, doesn't move. He remains silent, waiting for more.

"You do understand... Well-" He lets out a breath, seeming frustrated. "Are you going to keep dating Britt?"

"... I don't want to hurt her feelings, Kyle. I won't break up with her unless..."

_Unless I get with you._

That doesn't really help. It means Stan is being safe, that he doesn't want to end one relationship until he's sure he has another one. That, or he's genuinely worried about Britt's feelings. Kyle knows what he _wants_ to believe, he just doesn't know what he _should_ believe. It's overwhelming him, and he wants to just go sit in a corner and cry, so that he doesn't have to make this decision. He could end up hurting either Stan or himself. He doesn't want to do either. It's so hard, to be making these decisions, decisions that will affect him greatly.

"Stan," he whispers, tears beginning to form. "Stan." his voice is shaking. There's too much pressure. He doesn't want to hurt Stan's feelings, but he doesn't want to make the wrong decision. He hears a sharp intake of breath from beside him as Stan realizes he's crying.

"Kyle- I- I'm sorry..."

Kyle tries to calm down, but he can't control himself. Tears stream down his cheeks, refusing to let him keep his composure. He doesn't want to cry, not in front of Stan. It makes him appear weak, helpless. He can't help it, however, and so he just gives in.

"Kyle..." Arm encircle him, slowly, cautiously. Stan holds him gently, as if he'll break at the slightest movement.

And then Kyle realizes. Why would Stan be lying in the first place? Why else would he be doing all of this, unless what he's saying is true? There's no point to be wasting his time with this otherwise. Well, unless he's making fun of Kyle for being gay. But Stan wouldn't do that. No. Everything he's saying must be true. There's no other reasonable explanation.

"Stan." he says, wrapping his arms around the boy. He's still crying, for some reason. He doesn't know why; he should be happy, right? But the tears keep coming, stubbornly refusing to give him control. He just cries in Stan's arms, holding onto the boy tightly, as if he'll disappear if he lets go. Stan cradles the fragile boy against his chest, stroking his brilliant flaming hair soothingly, whispering gentle consolations in his ear.

This is the person he's fallen in love with. Gentle, caring Stan. The Stan he knows would never do anything to hurt him, physically or emotionally. The one he knows would unquestioningly help him when he needs it, no matter what.

Just like he is now.

More tears spring to his eyes. Kyle realizes they're not tears of sorrow, but tears of... well, he doesn't know, exactly. They're not exactly happiness, or relief, or anything, really. They're just tears. Maybe he's just overwhelmed by the whole situation.

Whatever they are, he doesn't care. He's where he wants to be; in the arms of the person he's in love with. And that's all that matters right now.

_- So yeah. I totally had plans to write more of this, but I never did and now I've forgotten. Which is kind of good, because the last thing this story needs is more added to it. But really, if anyone actually liked it, I have ideas to make it at least like three or four (maybe more) chapters longer. So tell me, or else I won't do anything and finish my other five hundred stories that actually have original plots. And some stories that have totally unoriginal plots lol. But whatever, I'm going to stop now. Review, maybe?-_


	3. Delayed

_DUDE FFF I know march is NOT EVEN CLOSE to being finished but I JUST COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE GGGGRRRFFFFHHHAAAAHHHHHHHHH And yeah haha I kind of blew up on Friday and had a conversation with my ho (lol) that went something like this:_

_"I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!"_

_"I KNOW!!!"_

_"THIS SUCKS!!!"_

_"I KNOW!!!"_

_"I'M GONNA GO HOME AND WRITE A STORY!!!"_

_"I'M GONNA WRITE SO MUCH CRAP TODAY!!!"_

_"BYE"_

_"BYE"_

_Yeah. So that was an epic fail. But it happened because I cracked sob. I WAS DELIRIOUS THOUGH SO IT DOESN'T COUNT SSOOOBBB I DON'T WANNA EAT A BOX OF BLUEBERRY MUFFIN POPTARTS THEY'RE SO NASY UUGGGHHHH NNNOOOOOOOOOO_

_Hoho. Anyway, about the chapter. More angst, even though I was TOTALLY not planning on it. I seriously don't WANT more angst in this story, but it just kind of happened. Kyle is very stubborn about his feelings here. The little_

_Well please enjoy this piece of llaammmee that I kind of like because Kenny's in it. Oh, and don't expect to see Cartman anywhere near this story; I hate writing him and avoid him whenever I possibly can. For those disappointed, however, he is going to be in Third Wheel, so go look over there. Again, sorry x1000 for the ssuuuuuuuper slow updates. ;-; I will get a bunch up here to make up for that. Without further ado (unless you skipped this bit, in which case you wouldn't be reading this and there would be no ado), chapter.... three right? Yeah. Chapter three._

_Ooohhhh and thanks to Athena2693 for pointing out that Stan's kind of a douche for bringing Kyle along for the first date, lol. I seriously never would have given it a second thought. fail. But yeah, see, reviews are actually pretty useful sometimes. So like, review. Share your thoughts. You might actually influence something! :O_

-

"Dude."

"I know."

Kyle leans back on the bed, crossing his legs at the ankles, staring at Stan with a raised eyebrow.

"So what are you gonna do?"

Stan sighs, holding his head in his hands, bending his knees to provide support for his elbows. There's enough space between them for a whole other person; Kyle is still sensitive about touching his best friend. Even though everything should be fine right now, it just feels awkward and hard to him. It's going to take a long time for him to get used to this; no more is he going to be pressured by secret feelings, no more depressing loneliness, no more misunderstanding. But now there's an even bigger problem, a problem that has no idea just what she's in the middle of.

"I don't know," Stan finally answers weakly. Kyle rolls his eyes; Stan has always been a little hopeless with things like this. Not that Kyle really knows what to do either. "I can't just break up with her, Kyle. She's here for a month, and she has nowhere else to go." He groans into his hands.

"Yeah, that sucks," Kyle responds uselessly. He wishes he could help, but really, with all that's happened in the past three days, he feels drained. Right now he's just so overwhelmed with everything, he just wants to curl up and go to sleep. But he can't. They still have to decide what to do about Britt. Not for the first time, Kyle wishes she would just disappear. That would solve everything.

"Really, dude. I can't just throw her out," Stan continues to stress. Kyle sighs.

"Yeah..." he pauses, then sighs again. "We're thinking too hard about this. If you think about it logically, the only thing to do is keep her around." The gravity of that doesn't hit Kyle for a second, but then his heart sinks. It really is the only thing to do, but seriously, it would be for a whole month. A whole month of keeping up appearances, just so that Stan doesn't break Britt's heart. But how is he supposed to do that? He's going to have to break up with her eventually. If she finds out early...

Stan exhales shortly. "Dude. She's not gonna want to stick around if she knows about us."

Kyle remains painfully silent, Stan's words hanging in the air, waiting for it to sink in. Stan's expression is vague confusion as his gaze is held by Kyle's.

He pales.

"No." Kyle just stares back at him, unresponsive. "No, Kyle, I'm not going to do one of those secret relationships."

"Stan, it's the only way." Kyle watches grimly as Stan shakes his head, eyes wide.

"No, we can't!" Now Kyle rolls his eyes.

"Come on, Stan, what do you have against them, anyway?"

"Well, let's see." Stan holds out his hand and counts on his fingers. "First, it's lying. Second, it's stressful. Third, it's hard. Fourth, it's just stupid. Why should we have to hide?"

"It's not about hiding. It's about Britt."

"But what if she finds out?" Stan looks panicked and distressed. "Kyle, what's even the point? She could find out, or- hold _on-_" Kyle shuts his mouth grudgingly- "or she could guess, and even if we _are_ able to keep it secret for a whole month, how are we going to tell her? 'Oh, Britt, before you leave, we just wanted to let you know that the whole time was a lie and I don't really love you. Have a nice trip home!'" Stan groans loudly in frustration and folds his arms around his legs. Kyle softens and speaks quietly.

"Calm down, Stan. I know this is really stressful, but we need to get through this and hold ourselves together. We can't do that if we don't think about this rationally. Now look at me and let's talk this through." It feels extremely weird to Kyle to be giving his best friend this talk, and he feels so out of place, but nevertheless Stan does look up obediently and meets Kyle's eyes. Kyle gives him a weary smile and continues. "So. What I'm thinking is that we just keep everything low for the duration of Britt's stay. We want to be really careful if we don't want to hurt her feelings. Just try to seem like nothing's changed, and when the month is over, you can break up with her then." He exhales, eyes closing, fingers massaging his temples. Is he seriously getting a headache over this?

"I don't like it," Stan responds quietly. "Kyle, it's lying, and I really don't want to lie to her. She's such a nice girl, and she doesn't deserve that. I don't want to hurt her." Kyle breathes out slowly.

"I know. I know, Stan, I know. It's hard. But either way, you're going to have to break up with her. This is just the easiest way to let her down."

"I still don't like it..." Kyle doesn't answer. He feels the bed moving, and assumes Stan's getting off, but stiffens when he feels arms snake around him, holding onto him softly. He opens his eyes to see Stan snuggling into him, warmth. He stills and slowly, awkwardly places a hand on Stan's back, wrapping his left arm around him. It's so, so strange, and he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it. But he can try.

-

School. Isn't it just wonderful? Kyle's pretty much done with school by now, especially since it's senior year, but now he's actually glad he has to attend, because it gives him something to do that isn't sitting around uselessly while Stan spends his time with Britt. They haven't done anything relatively close like that first kiss at all, because Kyle has been too nervous to start anything and Stan hasn't tried to either. If this continues, keeping their relationship quiet isn't going to be very hard at all.

Because she's going to be in South park for so long, Stan's mom helped arrange a program with the school so that she could attend with Stan. She's going to be in every one of Stan's classes, which is slightly infuriating to Kyle. But there's nothing he can do, so he's just going to have to bear with it.

Today's Monday, and Kyle is curious to see how this is all going to play out. Stan is driving Britt to school, so Kyle's on his own. Stan offered to give Kyle a ride, but after tagging along on that first date, Kyle really feels that doing that would be out of line. He actually feels guilty for that; even though he was sure it would be his last chance to spend time with Stan, he really had no right. He was just imposing on their time alone, and that was selfish. Chagrin washes through him, his subconscious knowing that if everything hadn't worked out the way it had, he would be feeling quite smug about ruining the first date.

He walks to school. He can drive, but he really doesn't feel like going through the whole process of persuading his father to let him use the car today, assuring him that he won't drive over thirty-five and that he'll keep it scratch-free. Usually he'll just get a ride from Stan, but...

"Hey, Kyle!"

He turns toward the direction of the call and sees a dirty blond boy waving at him from across the street, coming from the one perpendicular to his. He's tall, has maybe an inch or two on Kyle, and wears a filthy, beaten old orange hoodie.

"Hi, Kenny!" Kyle waves back, smiling, stopping to wait for him to catch up. Kenny has been wearing that jacket for five years. He had another one before that but gave it up when the sleeves started getting too short. Kyle rolls his eyes. He's going to get Kenny a new jacket.

"So where's your Super Best Butt Buddy?" Kenny asks, grinning widely. Kyle shoves him and he laughs, dodging easily. "No, really. Where is he?"

"Driving his girlfriend." Kyle tries not to sound grudging as he says this.

"Ah." Kenny nods knowingly. His eyes slide over to look at Kyle sideways and that grin widens. "Someone's jealous."

"I'm _not_," Kyle disagrees indignantly, face heating. So what if he's jealous? Jealousy never hurt anybody.

Okay, well, it did, but he's got everything worked out. Sort of.

"Oh, Kyle, lying's not going to get you anywhere." Kenny throws and arm around Kyle's shoulders and hugs him in. Kyle scowls.

"Neither is hypocrisy," he mutters back dryly. Kenny winces and withdraws, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his jacket. Kyle hates to imagine what might be in there.

"_So_," Kenny starts up again, obviously trying to think of something to say to break the sudden silence. "How, uh, how's homework?"

Kyle closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose, lifting his eyelids slowly and turning towards Kenny to give him a deadpan look.

"Okay, sorry. What am I supposed to say?"

"Nothing."

Kenny sighs and Kyle rolls his eyes in good nature. Kenny _loves_ talking to Kyle, mostly because he's practically the only one Kenny ever talks to. He's a little more introverted, though he does talk to people- usually only if they talk to him first. The only person besides Kyle he really talks to on his own is Butters- which is good, Kyle admits, but he really should expand his circle. Kyle has constantly tried to get him to be a little more social, but Kenny seems to prefer the secluded, perverted bubble of his mind. It's really a bit sad to Kyle, because he's so open minded and a great person to talk to whenever he's around his small group of friends. The only times he ever actually gets involved in conversations with other people is when the conversation becomes centered around what he knows best- sex. Dirty jokes, stories, debates, even; he just is in his element. Not to say that Kyle approves of this behavior, because of course he _doesn't._ But whatever. It's Kenny's life, not his. Besides, he has more important things to be worrying about.

"So have you met the lucky girl?" Kenny starts up again, that teasing tone icing his voice. Kyle gives him a look but answers anyway, if only to pull himself from his depressing thoughts before they start.

"Yeah. Blond, blue eyes, everything Stan's been telling us for the past six months." He sighs and continues. "But yeah, I met her. She's nice. Good girl." _Too bad we're about to break her heart._ Kyle's a thief. He pulls through his guilt to listen to what Kenny's saying.

"Oh, yeah? She pretty? Look like she'd be good in bed?"

Kyle shoves him away, growling for him to shut up, and he stumbles a few steps away from him, laughing.

"I was kidding." He snorts and shakes his head. Perverted prick. "Come on, cheer up, Kyle. He's still gonna be at school."

"With Britt hanging off his arm," Kyle can't help but add. He winces when Kenny frowns.

"Dude, does it seriously bother you?" he asks slowly, as if it's just dawning on him. Kyle mentally slaps himself and is about to say something like of course not when Kenny continues. "Kyle, you know you're still important to him, right? Britt's just his girlfriend, it doesn't change any-"

"I know," Kyle cuts him off curtly. Uncomfortably. "Just..." Just what? "Just, what's more important?" He almost wishes he didn't ask that. It came out rushed and stupid. Kyle's stupid. Kenny frowns at him, as if in concentration.

"Well," he starts up, like a freight train hauling about a million plus tons, "I mean, it's different for everyone, dude. Me, personally, I think it's best friends. They stick with you forever and support you in everything, and girlfriends are just temporary. Sure, they're important, just, if my best friend needed my help while I was out on a date with my girlfriend, I'd help him. Hell, if I was having sex with her I'd help him, and that's saying a lot." He grins playfully at Kyle at that last remark and Kyle blinks back at him. "But really, dude. Friends are trustworthy, and girls will just dump you first hot guy they see, no matter how much she told you she loved you. I mean, look what happened to Stan with Wendy way back when, you know?"

Yeah, Kyle does know. He gets what Kenny's saying, exactly. But what about boyfriends, he wants to ask. What if you have a girlfriend _and_ a boyfriend? Who's more important then? What about a girlfriend you thought you were so in love with for six months, before your best friend confessed his love for you, and then you realized you were really in love with him? What about a girlfriend who you now have to lie to and pretend to still love to make her believe so and keep her from suspecting your true feelings at all? What about a girlfriend who has no idea you're in love with your secret boyfriend? Who's more important, the girlfriend or the boyfriend?

-

Kyle sees their hands curled together, their fingers twisted like a sapling's roots with the earth, like vines with the branches of that sapling, like twigs of a bird's nest on one of those branches. Neatly woven together, like they were meant to be. But they weren't. Kyle knows that for a fact. He's made sure he knows. He ought to know by now; four days is a long time to get a simple fact drilled through one's head.

Now he only watches the couple in boredom, drumming his fingers on the desk as he tries to see past them to the assignment the teacher's explaining, chewing on his fork rather than his food at lunchtime and pretending to be interested in the conversation at the table she is now a part of, rearranging his textbooks in his arms as he walks five feet behind them in the halls to his locker, trying not to fix his gaze on the interlocking of the fingers that seems a beacon to his suddenly blinded eyes. He doesn't want to appear an asshole, the best friend of forever that suddenly doesn't give a rat's ass that his fourteen-year counterpart has a girlfriend he seems to be in love with. No. He just wants it to seem like it's not a huge gaping deal to him by claiming it's not really a big deal either way. Which makes him appear an asshole.

Really, it's killing him. Yeah, it's just an act, as far as he knows. Yeah, it was his idea. Yeah, Stan made sure to tell him that he loves Kyle, not Britt. But it's hard, seeing them together like that. He just can't explain it without seeming selfish. It's hard.

Isn't he supposed to be happy? He got his love, willingly, they're together. He should be ecstatic. But he's not. It's just hard.

Ever since school with Britt started, Stan has been with said girlfriend twenty-four seven and Kyle's been left with Kenny, which is what he figured would happen anyway. Not that that's a bad thing; Kyle likes Kenny. Just, he kind of misses Stan. Kind of a lot. And he tries so hard not to, because that would be really selfish of him, but, well, he just can't help it.

Apparently his indifferent act isn't working, because on Friday Kenny takes him outside at lunch and starts talking to him about it. Kyle has his eyebrows raised in aloofness the whole time, but it doesn't seem to be having any effect on Kenny.

"Look, Kyle, I know it seems like he's forgotten about and replaced you, but it's only the first week. He has to guide her, take her all the places, show her around. She's making her own friends, you'll still get to hang out."

Kyle blinks once and replies shortly, "I know." His voice is steady and guarded, even to himself. But it's true. He does know. Maybe Kenny doesn't know, but Kyle does. Kenny releases an apple lip and looks slightly confused.

"You do...?" he asks reluctantly. Kyle laughs humorlessly.

"Of course I do. Remember?" He's referring to Monday, when they walked to school together because Stan was driving Britt instead. Kenny nods but doesn't look so sure.

"Yeah... But then... Why are you acting so depressed then?"

Kyle is taken aback. "What?"

"Dude, you won't willingly talk to anyone unless it's Stan and he talks to you first, and even then you're not acting like yourself-" Kyle wants to point out that he's talking to Kenny, isn't he?- "and you go around with this look on your face like life's pointless and everyone should pity you and then you're always staring at _them_." What? Oh, right. Their hands. The saplings. _That_ shit.

"Kenny," he tries to laugh. "I'm not _depressed._ I'm fine. Just tired."

"Tired of being ignored?" Oh yeah, real funny. _No._

"No," Kyle voices, rolling his eyes for effect. "I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately. Too much homework, you know?" Kenny is not impressed. He has his eyebrows raised and his hands on his hips in that contra-whatever pose from that art class he took for credits in freshman year with none other than Kenny. Maybe he's just high and he thinks they're in ninth grade. That would make sense.

"Kyle, stop it. You can talk to me, you know that? I may not be your 'super best friend,' but I'm close enough, right?" Now under the unimpressed demand for an explanation there's a pleading look, like he's scared that Kyle doesn't trust him. Well great. Kyle doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but how the hell is he going to explain everything to him? He doesn't want to tell him he and Stan are _gay_. Isn't that kind of a secret? Yes. And isn't it vital to an explanation for him to include that?

Yes.

He sighs. "Kenny, I just... Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does bother me to see them always together like that. But, you know, I don't _want_ to be depressed about it. 'Cause that's stupid, you know?"

"Yeah, no one wants to be depressed, that's fine," Kenny agrees. Now he seems more relaxed, because he's got a place to stand. "And yeah, it makes sense that it would bother you to see Stan basically ignoring you like that. But like I said-"

"I know, Kenny," Kyle interrupts, trying not to sound rude. "He'll acknowledge me in about a week. It's fine, problem solved. I'll just hang out with him then. No big deal." Kenny hears the almost bitterly dismal disappointment in those words and moves forward to wrap an arm comfortingly around his shoulders.

"It's okay, Kyle. She'll be gone in another few weeks, right? Hey, why don't you just talk it out with your super best buddy? Tell him how you feel, all that jazz. I'm sure he'll be more careful about it." He squeezes Kyle close and turns his head to look at him, smiling encouragingly. Kyle doesn't know why he suddenly wants to burst into tears, but he suspects it has a lot to do with what Kenny's been saying and how it's all true. Except for the depressed part. Because he's not really _that_ depressed. He just kind of a lot _really_ misses Stan. His boyfriend. His boyfriend that he hasn't talked to since that title became appropriate. Kyle's stomach clenches.

"Okay," he whispers, ducking his head into Kenny's shoulder. Kenny seems to understand and hugs him close, pulling his free arm into place around the other one. Kyle doesn't cry, but he really wants to. He just... can't. Because that would be selfish. Because this is actually his fault. Because he came up with the idea that's making him feel this way. Because he wanted to protect Britt, the girl he hated just a week ago, who he now just feels sorry for. He remembers how he felt those three days when he was sure Stan was going to be out of his life forever. Now he's turning that on Britt. The devastation, the horrible, empty pain. He doesn't want to do that. Britt's a nice girl. Really nice...

The bell rings, and Kenny walks Kyle to his next class.

-

"Stan?" Kyle twirls his shirt hem in his fingers, careful not to make eye contact or even look at Stan's face for fear of a lack of an answer of any kind. He almost smiles when that's not the case.

"Hmm?" Britt is standing just over there, talking with Wendy and Bebe and a few other girls Kyle couldn't possibly care enough about to remember their names, but Stan is at his locker, getting some books he'll need for the weekend homework he's inevitably been assigned, and Kyle is standing right behind him, nervous, anxious, ready to be rejected at any moment. He's decided to take Kenny's advice- well, kind of. He's never going to get up the courage to actually _talk_ to Stan about how he feels, but he does want to see if he'll at least start noticing him again.

"I..." he falters, suddenly scared. What if Stan says no? What if he ignores him? What if Britt comes over before Kyle can finish what he's saying? That last one gets him going, if not a bit too rushed. "Are you free any time this weekend?" When he doesn't get an immediate response, he continues desperately, "I mean, it's completely fine if you're not, I was just wondering, you know, because _I_ don't really have anything planned, and I just thought it might be a good idea if we could hang out but if you really don't want to, that's fine, really, because-"

"Kyle." Stan has this really sad look in his eye when he finally turns to look at Kyle, and Kyle realizes he's not able to keep his eyes off of his face like he wanted to. "I actually.... No, I can't. Britt and I, we.. We're gonna go see a movie and..."

A hard lump forms in Kyle's throat and he can't swallow it. He doesn't want to speak because he's scared his voice will be too high, but he tries it anyway. "Oh. Well that's fine. I mean. I. I can hang out with Kenny. N-not that he's my fallback, it's not anything like that. Just. Yeah. Have fun with Britt. Yeah." He goes to turn around, ready to leave, when Stan stops him.

"Kyle, wait." Obediently he halts, turns the rest of the way back around, and faces Stan again, hoping the pain doesn't show on his face. Stan looks like guilt is eating him like a thousand maggots, and hope pricks Kyle the way a needle would. "Kyle, I... I'm not going to be seeing a movie for two whole days. We can still hang out on Sunday. If that's okay with you...?"

And Kyle's heart stops. Honestly, he didn't think Stan had any time left for his best friend. At all. He thought that it was always going to be Britt, because she's living with him. But...

"Really?" he gasps in awe, fully prepared to blink and be jolting awake in his bed at midnight. "Really? 'Cause, I mean, if it's gonna cause trouble for you, then you seriously don't have to. I want you to be able to be relaxed and ready to come over whenever you want, not because _I_ wanted to-"

"Kyle," he interrupts again, and Kyle falls silent. He flashes a weak grin. "I really want to. I miss you." And the look in his eyes says that he really wants to kiss Kyle right now. Well, that makes Kyle want to melt. He wants to throw his arms around Stan and kiss him back, who cares what other people think. But Britt's right there, so he can't. He just wipes at the premature tears in his eyes and smiles at Stan, beams, and reaches out to briefly squeeze his hand in affection. "I'll be there at eight," Stan says, and Kyle nods happily, waving with a mouthed I love you and a blown kiss goodbye. He's on cloud nine.


	4. Blind

Stan's eyes are cold, glittering with icy contempt as he stares, devoid of all feeling, at the boy shuddering at his feet. Kyle can't comprehend it, can't understand, doesn't know what it _means._ It's not true, right? It's a joke, right?

No.

The words echo in his ears, the sting of the blow still perched on his cheekbone.

"_Kyle," he says, murmuring, angry, beyond love and care and even hate, just cold, horrifying, deathly solemnity. "It's not going to work. We aren't going to work. I'm here to say goodbye."_

_Kyle stops, stilled in his movement, capability stolen like breath from a dying man. "What?"_

"_I'm not going to lie to you anymore. I'm not gay, I don't love you, and I never want to see you again."_

_He says it with such feeling, yet none at all. His eyes are dead, but god, they're dead serious. Stan really never wants to see Kyle again. This doesn't hit Kyle yet. He still thinks it's a dream, a nightmare, a sick, sick joke. _

"_Stan," he starts, approaching with a slight hysterical grin bordering on the edges of his lips, "you don't really mean-"_

_He's cut short with the terrifying sting of fingers as they smack against his cheek, and Kyle stumbles back those few steps he's just taken, hand flying to the wound, tears glistening in his eyes. Stan means it. He does. He hates Kyle, just like he always feared. He lead him on, let him believe that he could be happy. It was all a lie. _

_He crumples in a heap at Stan's feet, sobbing, desperately wishing for the blissful awakening from this terrible nightmare. For the realization: it's all just a lie. It's all a lie. It's not real, his mind is lying, he's lying to himself, he's lying to himself, he's-_

"Get up," Stan spits at him, voice frozen and harsh, ears unhearing to Kyle's devastation.

"No, god, Stan, y-you..." He can't get anything straight. It's all muddled, gone from coherent thought, indiscernible. Oh, he must be watching a movie, it's late at night, he's about to fall asleep. His tired mind incorporated real life into the movie and turned it into a nightmare. It's alright. Everything's going to be al-

"Get off of me and stay away," he threatens, almost sounding bored. Kyle sobs and reaches shakily out, hand beyond steadying to control, and Stan's face twists in disgust (though his eyes are still lifeless) as he violently kicks him away. Kyle's fingers clench and he draws back, sobbing even harder now. Stan's lip is curled in that very same disgust and he turns away from Kyle, ready to leave.

"Goodbye, Kyle," he calls down to him, almost in a sneer, except for the emotionless carelessness in his whole stature, and Kyle screams.

"No, Stan, don't leave me, please!"

He's gone.

Kyle curls into a ball, moaning and hiccuping and sobbing hysterically, as if his chest cavity has been ripped open and put on display. The kitchen tile flooring is unforgiving as he shifts and slams his forehead down against it, wishing for nothing more than to just wake up, anything. His head hits the tile for a second time, hard, and when he raises it up again he sees blood.

Three is the magic number.

This time swirls and sketchy blurs burst into his vision, like maggoty worms infiltrating his world, squeezing in, finding all the crevices of his mind. It all blanks, and then he's got something wonderful; his mother's kitchen knife. Without a second thought he plunges it cleanly through his chest, momentarily wishing he'd taken the time to etch Stan's name into its blade before he's distracted by the beautiful sight of crimson red splattering across the white of the floor, soaked in water, perhaps his own tears, readily taking in the new masterpiece of dark devastation. A new start, a new life, a new world. A new beginning. And then he's falling, falling, falling, _cut._

It's over, clear the scene.

-

_Okay so I have so many stories I'm working on right now I'm just cutting this off here. Sorry to anyone who was reading this, I really am, but you know. I keep getting new ideas and I want to work on those, like my new original story over at fictionpress and this stupid thing I thought of after watching "Cartman Sucks" and you know, I really don't have the time or energy for this anymore. So here's the ending, hope you like it. Sob._

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_Oh, you guys. I bet you all knew I was just kidding right? Especially considering the scroll down bar over there that totally gives it away, lol. Lamest April Fools joke ever, right? Right. And besides that, I totally hate this, even if it were on its own. Which I am gonna do. Tomorrow I'll be taking this down and putting it as a crappy little oneshot. Though I do like the detail, it's just badly written in my opinion. *shrug*_

_Oh, and those other stories I mentioned up there are in fact real. If anyone's interested, my username is the same over at , same old gay. And yeah, I did get inspired by "Cartman Sucks" to write a new fanfic. I'm sssoorrryyyyyyyy I __**really**__ shouldn't be starting new fics with all I've got going on. ;—;_

_*sigh* Anyway, here's the real next chapter. xD Have a good one._

-

When Sunday finally rolls around, Kyle is practically dead. He had absolutely _nothing_ to do yesterday and he just wants this weekend to freaking _end_ so that he can go back to the routine of mindless-six-hours-of-stuff-to-do. Except that's where Britt is. So if he goes back to school, he'll just be wishing for the weekend the whole time, and then it'll be back to nothing to do. Maybe he should hang out with Kenny. Yeah, Kenny probably has tons of stuff to do.

Anyway, when he wakes up feeling like shit because it's another pointless day that he's probably going to spend rolling around in his bed again, well- needless to say, he immediately jumps up once he remembers just what day it is. Well, that just made him feel about a million times better. Yeah, today's gonna be a good day.

Still, he just woke up. His mind doesn't really want to think right now. Give me a minute, it says, and Kyle answers, fine, but hurry up. And so it stretches and yawns and takes about a year or two to fully function, and then _finally_ it's working properly. He ought to get it changed.

Okay, that aside... What time did Stan say he's coming over again? Like.... eight. But wait- what the hell did he mean by "eight?" Like, eight in the morning, or eight in the evening? This is too much to be thinking about in the morning. Stupid brain. He should probably just call Stan, because that's what he always does when he can't figure something out, but Stan's probably helping Britt or something, or sleeping, or busy getting ready or taking a shower or something. Kyle doesn't want to disrupt anything _important_. Stan could be doing anything right now. What if he's saving the world and he's concentrating really hard and he forgot to put his phone on silent and Kyle calls him and it scares him and he jumps and whatever he was working on malfunctions and the world blows up? Kyle doesn't want to be responsible for blowing up the world. The guys in purgatory would kill him. Well, that would be kind of pointless, but purgatory sounds really boring and it would kind of suck to have everyone hate you there. Like, what if these two people were about to get married, and Kyle blew up the world right then? They would be engaged forever. And ever. _Dude_.

Okay, fuck. Now he sounds like Tweek. Since when is his imagination so high? It was like that after he confessed to Stan, too. Except that was based off of something. Not just random shit like, "Oh, I can't call Stan because it'll blow up the _world_ and then everyone in purgatory will _hate_ me sob sob sob." Maybe one of Tweek's "government conspiracies" turned on him and implanted a chip containing a part of his mindset in Kyle's. And maybe he's making stupid shit up again.

Goddammit.

Kyle flips out his phone and hits the speed dial for Stan's number. It rings three times before he's greeted to a somewhat not groggy, "Hey, Kyle."

"Uh, yeah." Kyle runs a hand through his hair (or at least tries to), suddenly nervous again for no apparent reason. What the hell? "When did you say you were coming over? I- I mean, you still are, right?" Stan laughs on the other end.

"Of course I am. You're ready, right? 'Cause it's already, like, seven fifty and I was gonna leave soon."

"What?" Kyle glances over at the clock on his bedside table. Oh, yeah, he's right. 7:53. "Oh. Right. So you meant eight in the morning." Wow, what a stupid thing to say. Kyle smashes his palm over his face and pulls down, stretching the skin out as Stan laughs mildly again.

"Yeah, what'd you think I meant, eight at night? Dude, that would be pointless." Yeah. Yeah, it would, unless you were planning on spending the night. "So you're fine with me over right now?"

"What? Oh, yeah, yeah, that's fine. Of course, come right over." Kyle must sound really out of it. Oh well. He kind of is. He just hopes it doesn't sound like he ODed on something he shouldn't have. Well, you shouldn't really OD on _anything_, just, he hopes he doesn't sound high. Because he's not. Totally not. Man, now _that's_ something to do when he's faced with a whole lot of nothing. There's like, three bottles of painkillers up in the medicine cabinet, right?

Just kidding.

"Alright, see you in a few."

"Kay bye." That sounded more like "K'bye." Huh.

Kyle snaps the phone shut and smiles to himself. Probably like a huge dork, but yeah, he smiles. He should do that more often, it feels good. And then...

Shit. He needs to get ready.

-

"Videogames?" Stan suggests as Kyle shuts the door to his room behind them.

"Uh, sure," Kyle agrees easily. Whatever Stan wants to do, _he_ sure doesn't have anything planned. Except the X-box is downstairs and the only thing he has in his room is...

"You wanna play GameCube?" Kyle asks unsurely, watching Stan's smile form.

"Dude, of course. GameCube is, like, the best." That sounded rather genuine.

"Well, okay." Usually Stan is all for the X-box. Maybe he's trying to avoid Kyle's mom. Which is kind of smart actually, because it _is_ eight in the morning. Not really early, actually, but Kyle doesn't consider it safe until at least eleven thirty. "What do you want to play?"

"Uh..." Stan looks like he's actually debating it, like he actually _plays_ GameCube. "Don't you have Super Smash Brothers or something?" Kyle grins. Stan knows that's his favorite game next to Mario Kart, which broke a few months ago. Ike still needs to buy him a new one.

"Yeah." He retrieves it from his bookshelf and takes it out of the box, popping the lid on the GameCube open.

"I forgot how small those discs are," Stan comments, laughing a little. Well, they _are_ pretty small. Nintendo didn't really think that through, apparently.

"Yeah," Kyle replies, and he wonders why this feels so awkward to him. Why aren't they talking and laughing and fooling around like they usually would be right now? Why is Stan sanding all the way over by the dresser, watching silently as Kyle sets up the GameCube? What's going on?

"Here you go," Kyle says, handing Stan the second player controller after he turns the platform on. Stan wordlessly accepts it and takes a seat on Kyle's bed. It's a stretch for the connector cord, but apparently it's manageable. Kyle sits on the floor to the side of him. He sees Stan look down at him out the corner of his eye and turns to see him staring with raised eyebrows.

"Dude."

"What?" Stan blinks.

"Come sit up here," he clarifies, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Kyle furrows his eyebrows indignantly.

"Why?"

"Why not?" Stan huffs. "Dude, just get your ass up here and start the game."

"I can't. The GameCube will fall over."

"Then _move_ it." Kyle sighs pointedly, slightly pissed because quite frankly, _he_ should have thought of that. Apparently not, though. He gets up from the floor, slides the GameCube closer to the bed on the carpet, and then goes back and sits back down in the same spot just to be an asshole. Stan makes a small indignant sound in the back of his throat as Kyle ignores him and presses start, flipping to the character screen.

"What the fuck, Kyle?"

"I don't know," Kyle responds evenly while he muses over which character he should pick. "_What_ the fuck, Stan?"

Stan doesn't answer verbally, choosing instead to lean over the side of the bed, grab Kyle under the arms, and haul him up, making Kyle yelp and try to twist away, fingers clenched on his controller so tightly they're white.

"Stan- Stop it!" he shrieks as Stan drags him up with astounding strength (or maybe Kyle just needs to eat more) for someone his age. "You're gonna- break my arms or something!"

Stan laughs out loud, finally succeeding in pulling Kyle up next to him. "Then stop struggling, asshole, and come up here with me." Kyle ignores him, still trying stubbornly to wrench himself away, because Stan seems to be trying to pull Kyle on top of him, and Kyle's not sure that's really where he wants to go. Of course Kyle loses, and Stan has him in his lap with his legs holding him securely there. Kyle squirms halfheartedly, but to no avail. Well, Stan's won, whoop-de-doo for him. Just, there's one problem: Kyle's kind of facing _away_ from the T.V.

Stan's arms make themselves comfortable around Kyle's waist, still holding the controller as he looks around Kyle to see the screen, probably choosing a character. Kyle never got to choose his.

"Stan," he starts, a little distressed sitting in Stan's lap with his legs kind of straddling his middle, feet barely touching the sheets behind him. "Stan, I can't see the screen. That's cheating."

"No it's not," Stan murmurs absently, and Kyle hears the game's announcer yell out Captain Falcon's name. "You can see it just fine. Now pick your character." Kyle is about to point out that he kind of can't when Stan takes his controller from his hand and flicks the control stick a few times over and down once before pressing A.

"_Marth!_" the announcer calls out. Kyle's eyes widen in horror.

"Dude! I don't wanna be _Marth!_" he cries. "Marth's such a _girl!_"

"So are you," Stan answers, grinning slightly as he presses X on Kyle's controller a few times before tapping start and handing it back to him. "Let's go to the Fountain of Dreams."

"You're a jackass," Kyle mumbles, a little subdued, slumping slightly in his arms. Whatever. It's early. He's tired. If Stan wants to play games with him, then he can go right the fuck ahead. But Kyle, he's going to sleep. Right here. He doesn't even care.

He gets comfortable in Stan's arms, relaxing slightly and resting his cheek on his shoulder as he closes his eyes. His grip on the controller loosens and he almost drops it, but then he wraps the cord around his wrist to hold it secure and relaxes again. His mind steadily submits to the sounds of Stan's breathing and the tapping of his controller's buttons as sounds of battle emit from the T.V. behind him. _Stan's probably beating me up right now,_ he thinks vaguely as he shifts to get more comfortable against the other boy.

A few minutes later, just as he's beginning to get especially groggy, Stan's voice cuts into his dreamy peace, making him frown in annoyance.

"Dude, don't fall _asleep_," Stan reprimands, shifting a little in an attempt to get Kyle to sit up.

"Fuck off," he mumbles sleepily, sliding just a sliver closer to Stan. The other chuckles and moves his legs up a little to help bring him into his torso.

"C'mon, Kyle, you gotta fight me. This is boring."

"Can't see th' f'ckin screen," Kyle grumbles resentfully, reluctantly lifting his head and cracking his eyes open to see Stan glance at him briefly before returning his gaze to the television screen before him. Right.

"C'mon, Kyle," he repeats urgently, tapping away at the buttons on his own controller intently. "Just start pressing buttons."

Kyle halfheartedly presses A and his controller rumbles mildly before vibrating violently as he hears Marth's girly scream of elimination. Oh, Stan's going to hell.

"Douche bag."

"It would help if you were looking at the screen," Stan comments so helpfully. Irritation sparks in Kyle and he sits up all the way, trying not to look too tired as he glares at his friend.

"I said I can't fucking _see_ the screen, Stan." Stan glances at him again and shrugs, eyes inevitably back on the screen. Kyle's just about to say something when he hears the game pause and Stan sets down his controller next to him, grinning as he places his now free hand on Kyle's upper arm, sending a few shudders through him.

"I don't think you need to see the screen," he murmurs, making Kyle swallow. Of course he needs to see the screen, he doesn't want to be staring at Stan's fat face the whole time. Stan's fat face that's steadily inching closer to his own, Stan's fat face that has fat lips that are parting slightly as they approach Kyle's, Stan's fat face that suddenly seems really attractive with its closing eyes and close proximity and...

Stan's lips find Kyle's and press into them, really soft and inviting and too perfect for a second kiss. All the previous fat qualities of Stan's face disappear, so that Kyle's not kissing a wannabe Cartman, because that's just gross. Not that Stan could ever remind Kyle of Cartman, just...just....

Fingers entwine with the thick strands of Kyle's hair as the lips press forward, melding and meshing and quite accurately taking to molding clay, but warm and soft and sufficient in drawing Kyle in further, bringing him to submission, but not through dominance. It's mutual, and Kyle willingly accepts the proposal.

His legs curl around Stan's waist as he subtly inches closer, having dropped the GameCube controller to the bed to wrap both arms around Stan's shoulders. He returns the kiss eagerly, all that awkward tension from before just melting away with Kyle's heart. He thinks, god, he must be the luckiest guy on earth to have gotten Stan as the one who cares about him that way. It's just... amazing, breathtaking, perfect, and everything else that could possibly contribute to the overwhelming feeling Kyle's picking up right now.

It almost feels like a dream when it ends, and the sudden drowsiness that washes over Kyle seems to agree with that illusion. His eyes flutter halfway open and he gazes at Stan through his eyelashes, resisting the urge to yawn as he smiles tiredly at him. Stan returns it with the essence of more of a grin and gently pulls Kyle off of his lap, moving the controller to the floor so he can lay them both down on the bed, facing each other.

"Tired?" Stan teases, and Kyle's surprised at how much he really is. He wonders why Stan is laying down too, because he doesn't look tired.

"What're you doing?" he mumbles as Stan pulls the covers over them.

"Gettin' comfy," Stan replies.

"Y... You can't be on the bed with me, my mom will think we were makin' out or somethin'..."

"But we _were _making out," Stan answers with a grin. Kyle frowns slightly.

"Whatever." He shifts around to make himself more comfortable. Stan helps by wrapping his arms around him under the covers and snuggling up to him. Kyle burrows his face into Stan's collarbone and slides an arm over his shoulders, glancing absently at the T.V. screen as he does. The characters are dressed in white standing next to each other in front of the fountain and the game is paused to make it look like they're holding hands. Pressing his face into Stan's warm skin once again, he mutters, "Jackass," vaguely before everything fades and he falls into a satisfying, peaceful sleep.

-

_I really didn't want to end the chapter here, but I tried writing the next part, and it's really hard and retarded and I'll need a while to figure it out, but I couldn't just leave you guys with that other piece of crap up there, so I decided to just get this part up today, because you know. _

_Also, I hate this chapter, because it seems awkward to me. Well, I mean, I hate the transition between the whole "Oh man, Stan's standing all the way over there, what the hell, man?" to the "Oh man, I can't see the screen, Stan's an asshole derp derp derp." It just seems really awkward and not right to me, you know? But whatever. It is what it is. Maybe I'll edit it better someday._

_Reviews are the best thing since sliced bread._


	5. Fallen

_Why didn't I just write about Gary? My life is getting into my fanfiction too much. Like, a LOT. Anyway, here's a South Park update, FINALLY. I'm sorry to those of you who are tortured by my flaming Big Time Rush obsession, I think it's gonna leave you in the near future. I was actually gonna submit this about a month and maybe a week or two ago, but it was neverending and I just really REALLY hated it. I'm sorry Kyle's mom suddenly turns all Mormon, it's totally my mom's fault. That being said, SOMEONE KILL ME I'VE NEVER HATED LIFE MORE. Enjoy. This may be your last SP update for a while, though I'm working on Recurring Nightmare. _

* * *

"-le, Kyle, are you up? Kyle, where are y-"

There's the sound of a door opening, but it sounds to Kyle a lot like it's coming from the other side of the house, not the other side of the room. His eyes flutter open to meet a blurry orange blob, and as it clears up he realizes, oh, it's his mom.

His mom.

If he weren't so tired, the panic in his veins would probably be shooting through much more violently and intensely. But he is tired, so it takes a moment for him to react. His mom must be tired, too, because she doesn't exactly react right away, either.

Kyle takes action first, sitting upright and pulling the blanket off of his torso. He runs his fingers through his hair as best he can while trying to muster up enough courage to smile nervously. He's about to say something along the lines of, "Hi mom, we aren't gay," or something like that that would totally give them away, but he forgets right before he does and shuts his mouth before anything else can come out. His nervous smile is shaky and he doesn't even know, but then Stan stretches beside him and wakes up, opening his eyes and spotting Kyle's mom.

"Mornin, miz Brof," he slurs tiredly, pushing his arms high over his head and yawning before relaxing and sitting up with Kyle. She looks utterly confused, like she thinks Kyle somehow multiplied during the middle of the night and turned into Stan. Or maybe that Stan snuck over in the middle of the night and they had gay sex all the way 'till the morning, and now her perfect little Jewish virgin isn't so much a virgin anymore.

Thank god they both have all their clothes on.

"Uh, what a surprise it is to see you, Stanley," she says, recovering somewhat. "Kyle, could I see you for a moment?"

Kyle groans inwardly and sighs outwardly. "Sure," he replies, tone chipper and ready to go. He doesn't feel at all ready to go have some sort of gay talk with his mom, but really, they weren't actually doing anything wrong, so his mom has nothing on him. All they did was... sleep together. Oh god, Kyle hopes his face isn't turning red.

He gets out of bed with an apologetic glance back at Stan before closing the door behind him and following his mom into her room. Once there, she turns to him and sighs lightly, heavily, whatever kind of sigh it is. Kyle doesn't really care right now.

"When did he get here?" she asks idly, no traces of an accusatory tone in there anywhere. Kyle raises an eyebrow, if only in confusion.

"About eight this morning," he answers, making sure to emphasize the fact that Stan didn't come over last night.

"Oh," she nods her head in understanding, and it's kind of pissing Kyle off. They both know why she wants to talk to him, can't she just get to the point?

Apparently she can.

"So do you usually sleep in the same bed?" Kyle rolls his eyes in annoyance at the tone that suggests he was doing something _so_ wrong as sleeping in the same bed as his best friend. Really, it's not a big deal, Tons of people do that, right?

"_No,_ mom, and besides; it's not a huge deal. It's not like we were, like, making out or anything." She bristles at his words and bites back.

"I never _said _you were, Kyle," she grinds out, obviously trying to restrain herself. "I just don't think it's very appropriate for two teenaged boys to be sleeping in the same bed together wrapped up like-" She stops herself before she starts yelling things that'll only succeed in getting Kyle even more pissed off at her. After taking a few breaths to calm herself, she continues, "I just don't think it's okay for you two to be that close to each other in the same bed. It's wrong." That makes Kyle angry. It's not _wrong._ There's nothing _wrong_ with being homosexual, is that what she's implying?

"There's nothing _wrong_ with it, mom." Kyle's anger is breaking through the drowsiness of just having woken up. "It's not like I was gonna just have him sleep on the floor."

"Well if you two were that tired, maybe he shouldn't have come over so early," she retorts, crossing her arms. Uh oh. She's getting pissed. You better watch out, Kyle. Why does she always change the subject so suddenly all the time? Just because she can't think of anything else? That's pathetic.

"Maybe we should discuss what we came here to discuss," Kyle throws back at her. She clenches her teeth.

"Okay. Fine. I don't want you sharing a bed with him, Kyle."

"What's wrong with it?" Kyle challenges, crossing his own arms in return. His mom is visibly growing steadily angrier, apparently appalled by his "disobedient behavior."

"It's just _wrong,_" she emphasizes, like it'll make her automatically right. It makes Kyle want to strangle her.

"But _why?_" he seethes through his teeth, eyes glaring like fire. "Because it's _gay?_ Because your perfect little son has to be _pure?_"

"That's _not_ what I _said._" Kyle's mom looks like she wants to do the same to Kyle what he wants to do to her. "And you had better watch yourself, or else Stan is going home and you're going to be confined to your room for the whole day." A deep rage flares inside of Kyle, unbridled and inextinguishable. He explodes with fury.

"Well I don't give a fuck what you think!" he shouts, not caring if Stan or the whole neighborhood can hear him. His voice is shaking with the raging passion of his anger. "I don't care if you think it's wrong to be gay, I don't care if you think it's wrong to sleep in the same bed, I don't- I just- Goddammit, mom, why do you have to be so-" He punctuates his thoughtless statements with a scream of frustration and turns, wrenching the doorknob and yanking it open, storming down the hall towards his room. He ignores the enraged calls of his mother to "Come back here, young man!", blind to her authority. What does she know about authority? Only that she can abuse it.

He's about to slam the door to his room open when he stops and thinks (for once), deciding that maybe Stan wouldn't appreciate it if he started bitching to him about nothing just because he's mad at his mom. This whole thing is just... ugh. Kyle wishes Stan weren't here to hear this.

"Kyle Broflovski, you stop ignoring me and come here this instant!" Oh, terrifying. He supposes it wouldn't hurt to just leave. But then Stan would be all alone...

Fuck it. Stan can get out through the window.

Kyle takes the stairs down three at a time, clearly able to hear his mother's thundering footsteps beating down the hall towards him. Still furious and consequently the opposite of careful, he suddenly feels his foot twist underneath him in his haste and cries out in frustrated pain as he tumbles the rest of the way down, which is thankfully only a few more steps. Still, his ankle is throbbing and probably swelling and it fucking hurts like a bitch. Clutching it tightly in clenched fingers, he steels his jaw and sets it down, trying to see if there's any chance he can still walk on it.

"Motherfucker," he hisses under his breath, pulling himself up on the stair railing and putting all his weight on his good foot. God, he wishes Stan weren't here. If only he could just wake up right now next to him, everything okay, nothing real...

"Kyle!" his mom screeches, and that's all the motivation he needs. Forgetting entirely about his twisted ankle, he darts through the living room and flies out the door, racing for the bushes at the side of his yard and leaping into them. He hears the door slam shut and then bang right back open, squirming deeper into the bushes. This is so fucking immature, the back of his mind tells him. The rest of his brain tells that part to shut the fuck up.

It does.

Blinded by broad leaves but at the same time grateful for the excellent cover, Kyle can just barely make out his mother standing infuriated on the front porch, searching in vain for her disobedient son. After a minute she finally gives up, slamming the door shut behind her. It's at this time that the pain in his foot re-registers.

_Sonofa__**bitch.**_

Kyle gasps and clutches at it, biting his lip _hard._ That really fucking hurts, like a motherfucking bitch. Goddammit, god_dammit._ He looks down at the pulsing mess of blood and pus (or at least that's what it feels like) and swears out loud.

"Holy shit!" he curses, eyes wide as actual panic shoots through him like adrenaline. His ankle is so fucking swollen right now, it's like, the size of his hand. It's, like, the size of Token's dick. The thing is fucking _huge._

Oh god, he really fucked up.

As he stresses over the abnormally large size of his ankle, he hears the front door to his house open and close and peers through the minuscule gap in the leaves of the bush to see none other than Stan on the front porch. He looks slightly confused, distressed, and a hell of a lot frustrated.

"Goddammit, Kyle," he says, a slight murmur to Kyle at this distance. A little miffed at Stan's apparent anger towards him, he calls out to Stan a bit reluctantly, hoping he didn't just fuck up his relationship, too. Before he has time to even think about worrying about that, the word is out of his mouth.

"Stan," he calls, and it sounds strangled to Kyle, because Jesus Christ, he's fucking in pain. Upon hearing his name Stan whips around to face Kyle's general direction, confusion apparent on his face. Kyle winces and crawls out of the bushes, doing his best to avoid making any contact with anything to his foot whatsoever. As soon as he's visible Stan stalks over to him, obviously trying to control his frustration.

"What happened?" he asks, and he almost sounds demanding, accusatory. Kyle cringes, still on all fours and halfway in the bushes.

"Dude, look, I'm sorry. My mom was being a total bitch and I just got angry and..." he trails off weakly, wincing again as he accidently brushes his foot against a branch. It throbs painfully and he sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. Stan no longer looks frustrated, but more wary. Or something along the lines of that. He regards Kyle through narrowed, analytical eyes.

"Dude, are you okay? You sound like you just swallowed a goldfish. And you look like it, too," he adds as an afterthought. Kyle rolls his eyes in unnecessary annoyance. He feels like a PMSing bitch, but with his injury and the lingering frustration from his mom, everything is pissing him off right now.

"I'm fucking _peachy,_" he growls back at him. Stan frowns.

"Was it something your mom said?" he guesses.

"_No,_" Kyle snaps. "I fucking... did something to my ankle. I don't know. I was going down the stairs and stepped on it wrong or something. _Nngh,_ goddammit," he adds as another wave of sickening pain throbs through. He bites down harder on his lip in a pitiful attempt to counter it.

Now Stan looks concerned. "Are you sure? Is it swollen?"

"Holy fuck, _yes_ it's swollen," he grinds out, trying not to move his jaw in some subconscious attempt to keep more pain from rolling in. It's not fucking working.

"Let me see it," Stan says in an I'm-trying-to-keep-calm-and-am-just-barely-managing-it voice. Kyle obeys, wincing repeatedly as he pulls his second half from the bushes and sits down on his right foot while he holds left in front of him where Stan can see. Oh god, it looks like someone fucking shoved a baseball into his ankle, holy shit. There's a sharp intake of breath and a less than unpleasant sound as Stan tries not to gag. Fucking weak-stomached pussy. It's just a twisted ankle, right?

"Dude, that's..." Stan swallows hard and tries to steady his voice. "Really bad."

"You fucking _think?_" Kyle snaps as another bout of throbbing pain pulses through. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes deep breaths through his mouth. In, out, in, ou- _holy fuck,_ it's getting worse. His fingers clutch at it and he hisses in pain when they make contact with the swelling. Stupidstupid_stupid._

Stan adds to this doctrine by asking, "Does it hurt?"

"Oh, _I don't know,_" Kyle snarls furiously. "I mean, it's only the size of a fucking _watermelon,_ Stan. It hurts like a fucking son of a bitch!"

"Okay, Kyle, calm down," Stan tries gently, shifting closer to him. "Cussing isn't going to solve anything." Well yeah, but it does give him a little satisfaction. Or something. Goddammit, it hurts.

Stan runs his fingers through his hair, obviously thinking hard. After a second he starts, "Kyle, I'm going to try taking you to my house. We can put some ice on it to help make the swelling go down. Does that sound alright to you?" He sounds astoundingly calm for one who frequently panics over things like this. Maybe it's because there's no one else around. Kyle doesn't know. But he's glad he's not freaking out or throwing up or something, because by the time they actually would be able to get help, his ankle would be beyond repair and he would have to get an amputation.

Kyle nods, still clenching his teeth, trying to calm down like Stan said. He braces himself as Stan gets on one knee and hooks one arm under Kyle's shoulders, the other at the backs of his knees. It's a good thing Stan stayed in football for so long, because if he hadn't there'd be no way he could be carrying Kyle right now. He straightens up, balancing with the new added weight, obviously trying to be careful. Well, the gesture is nice, but Kyle kind of has no way to keep his foot up so now it's hanging and to put it in short, it is _not_ going to get better that way.

Kyle exhales harshly through his teeth, wrapping his arms tightly around Stan's neck, hoping he doesn't break it in the process. After reassuring Stan that he's okay, just go, Stan sets off towards his house, and suddenly three blocks seems like forever. With every step Stan takes there's a throb to match it, and Kyle doesn't think he'll be able to make it out of this alive. He wants to bend his leg in so he can clutch at his foot, but he doesn't want to knee Stan in the face, or worse, throw him off balance and send them both crashing to the ground, so he sits still and tries to hold it all back. It feels like it's getting worse. It hurts like it was run over by a bus, and there's a whole lot of pressure, so that it feels like it could explode any second now. Stan glances down at him worriedly every time he makes some kind of noise, obviously wanting to say something but unable to or wary of saying it for fear of Kyle blowing up at him again. Which is probably what would happen.

He just clenches his eyes shut again along with his jaw, wishing they could just get to Stan's house already. Why the fuck did Stan walk, anyway? He has a driver's license, he could have driven this morning. He has his own car, too. What the fuck?

"Shoulda fuckin' _driven_," he mumbles, eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm sorry," Stan answers, sounding relatively sincere. Kyle just nods and bites his lip again, trying to focus on anything but the pain. Which is really hard, because it feels like he broke his whole body and not just his ankle. Oh god- what if it's broken? What does it feel like when you break something? Holy shit, he'll have to get a cast, and everyone will write super gay things on it, and holy crap. This is all his mom's fault. Fucking Jew, about fucking _everything._

It's been _way_ over too long when Stan finally stops walking and Kyle hears the sound of a doorknob twisting. He opens his eyes to see the inside of Stan's house, Stan kicking the door shut behind them. The smell of food hits Kyle, but he's not really too interested in finding out what. Shelley's sitting on the couch watching something or another on the T.V, glancing up at them upon their arrival and immediately turning back to her program, muttering, "God, you two are so _gay._"

"Shut up, Shelley," Stan comments back, sounding insulted. "Kyle can't walk."

"That's pathetic," she answers, eyes glued to the screen. Stan rolls his eyes and heads into the kitchen, Kyle still clinging to his neck. He's still biting the life out of his lip, holding to the nonexistent hope that it will distract from the pain. It doesn't.

Stan's mom is in the kitchen cooking something, which is what Kyle smelled when they first entered the house. It looks kind of like eggs. Or bacon. Some kind of thing that cooks in a pan. Hell, it could be pancakes- Kyle doesn't _care._ He wants to just scream and kick something, but that would be incredibly stupid, considering his foot is fucking- goddammit. He wants that ice.

Stan's mom glances up at them, doing a sort of double-take immediately after. "Uh, hello, Stanley. What are you two doing over here?"

"Kyle's hurt," Stan says curtly. It's at that moment Stan's mom chooses to notice Kyle. Her eyes widen once they land on his screwed up ankle.

"Oh my god! Kyle, what happened?" She abandons her work to come closer, motherly worry etched into her face. Kyle has been friends with Stan for so long that Sharon is like his second mom. She's so amazing- Kyle has wished countless times that she were his mother instead of Sheila, but hey, that's what moms are for, right? Yep. Yelling at him and then getting his ankle broken. Or whatever it is. Dammit, it better not be broken.

"He stepped on it wrong going down the stairs," Stan answers quickly for him, and Kyle just nods, grateful that he doesn't have to speak. It would probably just come out all gurgled and shit anyway. He doesn't feel like he has the ability to do anything right now, just to hold onto Stan and never let go.

It doesn't work.

Stan approaches the counter by the sink and carefully sets Kyle down onto it, taking extra care with his ankle. Kyle is forced to let go and does so reluctantly, biting his lip harder when the pain becomes deeper. He shuts his eyes and tries to block it out, but now it's all he can focus on. He refrains from cussing again, merely because Sharon is in his presence, and he wants to be as polite to her as he can. Instead he tilts his head back and continues with what he's doing, focusing completely on keeping his mouth shut.

A voice reaches his ears, sounding serious and concerned. "How did you step on it, Kyle?" Stan's mom. Kyle furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head, unable to get the words out, and besides, he has no clue how he stepped on it, just that it was wrong and he _really_ wishes he hadn't. Fingers smooth his hair back and he concentrates on the soft touch, hoping it'll distract him somewhat. Suddenly there's an icy sting adding to everything else applied to his ankle and he shrieks, eyes flying open and foot jerking away from the pain. It slams back into the counter behind it and immediately blinding pain spurts forth, flowering out and sending prickles up his skin.

"Fuck!" he screams, throwing his head back and clenching at his foot, trying to dampen the pain. He hears someone yelling sorry, but he doesn't give two shits right now. Glaring at Stan, who has a plastic bag clutched in his fingers, he shouts, "What the fuck was that?"

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" Stan answers, panic clearly etched onto his face. Wordlessly, Sharon takes the bag from her son and places her fingers on Kyle's, trying to gently pry them away from the swollen area. He reluctantly lets her, watching tensely as she lowers the bag back onto his ankle. The second it makes contact, he hisses through clenched teeth and closes his eyes once more, feeling the painfully numbing cold take over.

"And what is this supposed to do to help?" he get out brokenly, wishing he were able to speak more articulately right now.

"It'll help the swelling go down," Sharon answers evenly, ridiculously calm for everything Kyle's going through right now. And then it just has to get worse.

"Is everything alright?" The she-devil. Why, God, why? Kyle has to restrain himself from answering with something along the lines of, "Up until you got here," because really, at least it was bearable.

"Britt," Stan comments matter-of-factly, turning around to face her. She has a towel draped across her shoulders and her hair is damp. Apparently she didn't wake up too long ago. She also looks confused as to why Kyle is in the kitchen this early and why he's the center of attention.

"What's going on?" she asks again, coming closer. Stan bites his lip and moves so she can see.

"Kyle's hurt." Kyle can just see the question in her eyes; "Well why's he _here?_" None of your fucking business.

Instead of asking that, however, she gets this concerned look on her face and rushes over, glancing at Kyle's face worriedly. "Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay?"

Kyle tries not to roll his eyes as Stan fills her in, telling her what he told his mom. Kyle doesn't know why he's so moody today; must be because of the whole gay thing with his mom and all- since when is she all homophobic, anyway? Where the fuck did that come from? Probably motherly... stuff. Kyle doesn't want to think about it just now.

"Your lip's bleeding," says Stan's voice, floating through Kyle's thoughts, and Kyle starts.

"What?"

"Your lip is bleeding," Stan repeats, and Kyle licks along his bottom lip. Well look at that; it is.

"Oh."

By this time the pain has dulled into throbbing numbness, which is admittedly about a thousand times better than before. Holding the ice bag slightly away from his ankle, Sharon begins to investigate.

"I... don't think it's broken..." she says slowly, and relief floods over Kyle like a wave. It had better not be goddamn broken. "But I'm going to take you to get X-rayed. Just in case."

"Alright," Kyle agrees, nodding. He doesn't really want to move or drive anywhere or have doctors poking at his baseball ankle, but it's not gonna get any better that way, and he wants this thing _gone._

"Oh jeez, I hope you feel better, Kyle," Britt breaks in worriedly. _Who asked you?_

"Thanks," Kyle smiles. Call it lying, call it acting; whatever it is, Kyle's good at it. He's gonna have to be if anything is going to work out for the next three weeks.

Stan ends up coming with them, this ensued by pleading and begging to his mother. Britt, thankfully, is staying home to work on some of the homework she's been given to complete over her trip. It's a good thing, because Kyle thinks that if she came it would be terrible for his current stress. The only upside to this whole situation is that it succeeds in taking his mind off of his mom and her sudden apparent homophobia.

Even the pain in his ankle, however, fades to a barely noticeable throb as he sits in the back of the car, fingers clasped with Stan's tightly, a small assurance that yes, everything is, in fact, okay.

Well, for the moment, at least.

* * *

_I hate this ending. Please review. -is in SUCH a bad mood right now-_


	6. Life Isn't Fair

_So it's been forever and I don't deserve to live, but just the other week I dug this up and decided maybe I should give it another shot. I hate to see my SP fanfics wasting away like that. Plus I figured that Stan's birthday deserved a little recognition from me. Not that I remembered on my own, anyway._

_Chapter is short and I'm horrible. Maybe I'll at least get half of a review?_

* * *

His ankle isn't broken, thank god. It is, however, sprained very badly, and he tore a ligament. They put a cast on it and sent them on their was- after Sharon paid for it, of course. Kyle feels horrible that she has to do that, because if anything, it's all his mom's fault. That bitch. Kyle's gonna make her pay every penny of the bill, pay Sharon back, because she's actually _nice_ and _caring_ and _accepting_ and nothing that Sheila Broflovski is. Kyle kind of wishes he could just spend the rest of his life adopted into the Marsh family.

Starting right after Britt leaves.

So now Kyle's life is horrible _and_ he has a ruined ankle. Fun times.

On the way home to Stan's house, Sharon, despite Kyle's desperate protesting, calls Sheila to break the news to her. Surprisingly, she seems to have forgotten all about this morning's fight and is in total mother mode. She orders Kyle home _immediately_, and Kyle tries to fight her on it over speaker phone, but nothing works out that way so Sharon ends up driving him home.

Sheila is right out on the front lawn, biting her lip in worry, rushing over to the car the moment she sees it.

"Bubbie, where's my little Kyle!" she shrieks, and Kyle wants to wilt and die. Stan seems to understand, squeezing his hand in comfort before releasing it so Sheila doesn't see. She practically rips the door off its hinges to get to Kyle, eyes widening even more when she sees the cast and the crutches lying across Kyle's and Stan's laps. "Oh, _Kyle!_ What happened?"

She begins to freak out, and Kyle doesn't blame Sharon for leaving as quickly as possible. She stays only to give Sheila all the information necessary, and then she's on her way. Kyle can't help but feel a painful twinge in his chest as the car drives away, taking Stan with it. They were supposed to hang out today. Now that's all ruined, just because his mom had to get all pissy at him this morning because his Super Best Friend was in the same bed with him. The anger he feels is unbelievable.

"Kyle, what happened?" She's been asking that for the past ten minutes. It's just _so_ fucking annoying and just-

"I was going down the stairs and I landed on my foot wrong." He says it bluntly, and just like that, her mood changes- _again._

"Well, maybe that wouldn't have happened if you hadn't run away from me."

"_Mom-_" He doesn't want to deal with this right now. His morning is already bad enough, he doesn't want to go through this _again._

"No, Kyle, you listen to me. You can complain and whine about it all you want, but you are _not_ to walk away from me when I'm talking to you. Would you be in a cast if you had listened to me? Would you be walking around on crutches if you had listened to me?"

"You're completely missing the point!" Kyle almost screams, but he can't get any further because suddenly Ike appears at the top of the stairs, looking upset. Sheila immediately softens, but Kyle is furious. Every time he gets even just a little chance to tell his mom what he really feels, something like this comes up. Ike has terrible timing.

"Mom, why are you yelling?" he asks in an innocent little voice, and it is such an act. Ike is probably more mature than a lot of kids three grades older than him- he is _not_ innocent. But it works on Kyle's mom every time, so he does it time and time again.

"Oh, I'm not yelling, bubbie," she says, and Kyle rolls his eyes.

"Well you two are fighting."

"No we're not." Fuck Sheila. Kyle wants her to die more than anything right now. Throw Ike onto that list, too.

"I'm going to my room," Kyle mutters as he passes Sheila by, pushing past Ike and heading into said room, the door closing behind him- he barely manages to refrain from slamming it.

The second he's alone he makes his way to his bed and flops down on it, casting the crutches down to the floor. Did he do something to deserve this? Just what the fuck did he do for this? He didn't _ask_ for the depression of seeing his best friend of thirteen years being torn away from him, he didn't ask for the stress of keeping such a huge secret from such a significant person, he didn't ask for something so frustrating to happen like fucking spraining his ankle- no, none of it. He just wanted to be happy, and this is what he gets. Why isn't anything fair?

Kyle hears a ping from his phone, indicating a text, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket, flipping it out to read:

_ill drive u 2 skool every day - Stan_

He lets a smile fall over his lips, sending back a quick thanks.

So maybe life isn't that bad after all.


End file.
